Pushed Down
by Liars Burn
Summary: As children we're taught to get back up when pushed down. But human nature will drive us to cease getting up when the same thing happens again. Insane, doing the same thing over and over while expecting a different result... [Full summary inside]
1. Introduction

_Note_: Yes, another story by me. And so soon after the previous was finished too! My other multi-chapter fic was a little face paced and so I plan on stretching this one out a little more than that. I don't plan my chapters and I only write as the ideas come to me so updates will happen as my mind comes up with them.

_Disclaimer_: Standard disclaimer applies. This is a work of fiction created by a fan. I do not make money from this work, nor do I own characters used.

_Warning(s)_: None for this chapter.

_Summary_: As children we're taught to get back up when pushed down. But human nature will drive us to cease getting up when the same thing happens again. Insane, doing the same thing over and over while expecting a different result. So when the sane mind sees the same result of getting up, it will instead sit down and stay. Shirosaki has been pushed down too many times, meekly bowing his head after so long. Grimmjow has never been pushed down. They say opposites attract but these two are more alike than they might know...

* * *

**-Introduction-**

**Shiro's P.O.V.**

Shirosaki was nothing like his younger brother, he didn't even live with his younger brother, and that singular fact was constantly shoved in his face by his mother. He was the result of a previous relationship that his father had engaged in while still young. The result that was never really claimed beyond the occasional visit whenever his father wanted to see about his health. Those visits were few and far between, happening four times a year at the most, and his mother always made sure he was cleaned up for those. Usually he was lucky to have a chance to do anything beyond what was expected of him as her son, and his father's child, which meant he had to study hard and do his best to become a doctor.

Even at school he wasn't treated like anything more than a freak. It was attributed partly to his odd looks and then to his silence. Shiro had a voice that sounded watery and distorted, as if more than one person was speaking. The truly odd thing about him wasn't the white hair and matching skin but the amber and jet eyes, sclera as black as ebony while his irises appeared to glow. Those features had earned him plenty of grief and constant bullying.

Shiro had quickly learned that being different was not a good thing and yet there was nothing he could do to change the fact that he was so different. However, his looks were also one of the only things he actually took pride in.

The first time he met Ichigo was when the orangette was a mere three years old, and Shiro himself was nearing eight. Shiro had been cleaned up for that occasion, wearing a solid black kimono with a silver obi. Both families had met at a temple and the young Ichigo Kusosaki was wearing a red kimono and dark russet obi. Large, chocolate orbs stared at the blank faced child curiously before he skittered away to hid amongst his mother's skirts in fear.

Amber orbs blinked at the small child before he felt the small push to his back that could only have come from his mother. Without a word, he stepped forward slowly until he could bow to first his father and then the woman who insisted he call her mother.

Ichigo's mother was a beautiful woman, unlike his own, and she was sweet. Just being around her almost made him feel like a stain on the family name. Shiro didn't feel worthy of being around them at all. Nevertheless, he couldn't go against his mother and it was worth it to see the smile on Misaki's face and the mirth that he could see in his father's eyes.

His life may not have been the best, but he was happy enough for the time being.

~Line~

A hiss escaped as his back met brick, scraping along the harsh surface and leaving a trail of raw skin in it's wake. Shiro retaliated with a snarl and a punch to the male's gut, following with a kick to the back of his knee to help down him. Ever since he'd gotten into his final year of high school the fights had become more and more frequent until his mother began to worry. Just seeing her now gaunt face drawn into a fierce frown had him assuring her each time that it was nothing, even if it was clear she didn't believe a single word of it.

In his mind, she didn't have to believe him so long as she stopped questioning why he was doing whatever he did. There was nothing wrong with his mother, aside from the fact she was attempting to force him to go into a career he had no interest in. Several teachers had pointed out the fact that Shiro would make a horrible doctor, he had very bad people skills and he stood out far too much. In fact, Shiro couldn't stand the thought of helping people and possibly saving the life of one of the bastards that had ruined his childhood.

No, Shiro's true passion and talent was – oddly enough – within his ability in the kitchen and when making all manner of food.

His mother would have none of it, however, and it had been a challenge to get her to consent to him working in a restaurant as he'd wanted. She was a sometimes harsh woman when it came to things she wanted to have accomplished and he was sometimes considered her biggest investment. It was no way to raise a child from what he understood listening to other's conversations.

Darkened amber orbs fell on the now unconscious male before checking his watch and cursing. The fight had took longer than he thought and if he didn't hurry then he'd be late for class. No matter whether he was doing something he had no intention of finishing he would at the very least maintain a front until he'd saved enough money to move out.

Turning on his heel, he started running in the direction of the school and narrowly avoided bumping into several people. All the few who spoke out got in return was a one finger salute. Shiro barely made it to the shoe locker as it was and narrowly missed being tardy. Despite the fact that he was panting with exertion, he plastered a grin to his features and took his seat in the back of the class.

Whispers followed him but there weren't nearly as bad as the ones that came after he'd sat down. Shiro didn't have to look up to know that some of Ichigo's older friends had arrived. It had been some years since he'd last had the chance to speak with Ichigo. Ever since the death of Misaki he hadn't been permitted to see his brother, nor the younger sisters he heard he now had.

And every chance people had they reminded him of the fact he wasn't fully of their blood. Shirosaki was only a half sibling, viewed as a mistake by his own family for the simple fact he was the result of a drunken night. None of it mattered, the past was past and he refused to dwell on it for any length of time.

"Wha's lost is lost," Shiro muttered, jet nailed digits tapping a steady tattoo against his desk. "An ya can never get it back."

He was so lost in his musings that Shiro barely realized classes had already started, but his focus shifted to the teacher's words slowly. The notes were written in the messy scrawl characteristic of the pale teen and his attention focused, sharpened.

~Line~

He hated when she brought people home. The entire apartment reeked of cigarettes and sex while he had to watch his own mother giggle as if she were still a young lady. It was disgusting and Shiro was quick to go to his room, where it was at least somewhat safe. At the very least, his room was the only one that hadn't been defiled with her misguided attempt at regaining the youth she had long since lost. Sometimes it was hard to watch her cling to days long gone.

When all was said and done, the woman was still his mother and that meant that she was still someone he should at the very least respect. Even if the men she brought home were abhorrent.

Shiro leaned against the door, tossing his bag onto the bed and clicking the lock he'd bought for his door. The grin fell, leaving behind all the usual insecurities a teen felt. Scrubbing a hand down his face before walking about the room and looking for anything out of place. Only when he was sure that everything was as he'd left it did he sit down and relax. Homework would have to be done soon or he'd fall behind... again.

**Grimm's P.O.V.**

Large eyes stared up at the smiling face of his mother, never once taking note of the hurt in her eyes or the small quiver of her bottom lip. All he could spot was the faux happiness she wore like a protective cloak to hide the hurt bottled up inside. His mother knew there was no way he could understand, her son was only 5 at the time, and so she never bothered with explaining that she wasn't happy. Having a kid his age while she was just entering adulthood herself was hard enough, but to pretend to be happy for him all the time was even worse and she couldn't always deal with it.

Grimmjow Jeagerjaquez was a happy child, carefree as children were always meant to be and completely eager to do anything so long as he still had his mother and father in his life. Walking down the street, both his family members holding his hands while he babbled in that way children had. Fake smiles adorning both strained young parents faces while they looked down with softened eyes.

He grew up in a home filled with love and affection, a place where he could be himself and do what he wished with support from his family. There was no constant demand and grooming for some career he didn't choose for himself. When imagination conjured up the future of him being an astronaut it was supported by his father, and when he wanted to be an actor his mother supported him as well. Everytime Grimmjow changed his mind he was supported and never once was he expected to do something just because his parents wanted him to.

Every night he was tucked into bed, cuddling the important things he got for being a good child or because a birthday or some holiday. He never asked for too much, just love and care and what children normally desired as growing members of society, and had a vague understanding that his family couldn't always afford to indulge him in something or other. Despite being a child Grimmjow was intelligent and he hardly asked for anything.

When he was twelve the damn of civility finally broke and cerulean orbs were watching as foreign hands carried away the things that belonged to his mother in the small apartment. His own things were packed as well and ready to be moved, while his mother kept her distance from his father and looked anywhere but at the scene of the man she had created her child with. One large hand was settled on his shoulder and gave a singular squeeze before dropping away as if he had caused some harm.

Grimmjow's gaze turned up to the man and blinked. He was old enough to understand that his parents were no longer in love. How did you fall out of love after so long? It was one thought that plagued his still young mind and began to slowly fester like an open wound. Why... why were they splitting up? Had he been bad? Was it because he asked for that bike? Because he didn't eat the vegetables when he was younger?

So many questions, so few answers, and the seed of guilt settled in his chest. It must have been his fault. When his mother had spoke to him late in the night, after Grimm had chanced upon her while she was sobbing, she had said it wasn't his fault in such a firm voice he'd believed her. She may not have blamed him for what was going on at the current moment but Grimm fully blamed himself, especially after when he'd heard his father's explaination as to why this whole thing was happening.

The older male had claimed that it was no fault of Grimmjow, but his face and voice when he had spoke was no reassurance. His eyes had shifted, and they weren't the same shade as Grimm's or even his mother's, and his voice hadn't been firm but tired. It was as if the man was lying to his own son.

So he watched as the hired men moved out his things and his mother's, and slowly the youth moved closer to the female he resembled most. A smiling face tinted heavily with sorrow looked down at him, a small hand capturing his own and giving it a reassuring squeeze before relaxing.

Everything would be alright. Even if this was his fault he was determined to be good for his mother.

~Line~

Grimmjow slouched and shuffled towards his mother on one of those days where he was visiting the only parent he had that had him in mind at every turn. Not once did the woman bow her back under the strain of what it was like being a single mother. She held her head high and managed a smile for her son, becoming someone he could respect fully and admire. Strength was one thing she had in abundance and it was something Grimmjow had come to see as a large part of any relationship in order to make it work.

"Yo," was his greeting, lips pulled into a casual grin.

"Grimm, baby," she beamed, azure eyes alight with mirth. "Come to visit momma?"

Embarassed, he nodded and took a seat at the table and tolerated his enthusiastic hug and kiss to his forehead. The way she ranted about how tall he'd gotten was comical and brought a crooked smile to his now relaxed visage. Even after all she had suffered the woman was still like this, still able to laugh and have fun with her now adult child.

"You're always so busy at work now," she smiled. "How is it? Living alone and working."

"'S alright."

Truth be told, it was rather lonely. Grimmjow's latest relationship wasn't going all that well and the girl had been stringing him along for nearly a year. He had managed to break it off with her sometime earlier in the month, only to find her at his apartment the next day in tears over some imaginary injustice done to her. It had quickly became apparent she was attempting to get in his pants for some reason.

A virgin he was not, but he wasn't about to sleep with someone that he had broke up with. Not to mention she was trying to get him to ignore a condom and it had set off alerts in his mind. His mother had always warned him off of some of the people she heard about when he visited her. Flashes of pain went through he eyes ever single time he mentioned a current lover or the like and it brought to life the guilt he carried about on his shoulders.

There was no question in his mind, it was mainly his fault that she and his father split and nothing would change that simple fact. The tough face, the firm voice, and words spoken with conviction were quickly drowned beneath the lies of his father's words. Such things were what his mind held onto even though it had been ten years since his parents split up.

"Are you really alright?" worry coated her voice, small hands with calloused fingers moving over his cheeks. "You can tell me if something happened."

He could tell her but it would add to her worry so Grimm plastered a carefree smile over his face and shoved the loneliness and the guilt behind him. His mother was the only real person he trusted and respected. Everyone else betrayed him.

* * *

_The first chapter. Hopefully, every chapter after will follow a similar flow of being divided only two times. Once for Shiro's point of view and the other for Grimm's. Feedback is very welcome and any reviews making suggestions as well. As I said previously, I don't know what's going to happen because I don't plan what I write. My muse does what it pleases._


	2. Pessimistic Focus

_Note_: Thanks to my first reviewer, Hollow Ichigo-Ichigo, who also happens to be one of my favorite writers on here. My muse has been good to me and comes with more inspiration for me. This chapter might focus more on Shiro and takes place some days after the intro chapter.

_Disclaimer_: Standard disclaimer applies. This is a work of fiction created by a fan. I do not make money from this work, nor do I own characters used.

_Warning(s)_: Language and rather harsh bullying, possibly even mention of sexual activity.

_Summary_: As children we're taught to get back up when pushed down. But human nature will drive us to cease getting up when the same thing happens again. Insane, doing the same thing over and over while expecting a different result. So when the sane mind sees the same result of getting up, it will instead sit down and stay. Shirosaki has been pushed down too many times, meekly bowing his head after so long. Grimmjow has never been pushed down. They say opposites attract but these two are more alike than they might know...

* * *

**-Pessimistic Focus-**

**Shiro's P.O.V.**

Shiro watched as his mother burned the mess she called breakfast and went to pour himself a bowl of cereal instead. Not only was the smell abhorrent but the very sight of a charred mess sitting in the skillet had his lip curling in disgust. He'd always known that his cooking skills couldn't have come from the woman he called his mother, not when she couldn't even scramble eggs without incident. His mornings almost always consisted of her making meals that wound up in the trash because they were inedible and nasty. The woman refused to allow her son to cook anything for fear that he would take it as some kind of encouragement to pursue his desire to be a chef.

Once her tired eyes fell upon his alternative breakfast choice, the utensils were abandoned and the stove turned off before she went off to do whatever she needed in order to make herself presentable. It was always like this in the mornings, silent and distant. As if neither wanted to talk or the very air could shatter into a million of pieces between them at a moment's notice. That was how it had always been, first because he was a child and couldn't comprehend why everything was so cold and then because it was habit. Now, however, it was more as if Shiro feared talking to his mother unless she initiated the conversation. In fact, the only conversations they ever had involved her asking about his grades or scolding him because he wasn't studying hard enough and his test scores had dropped too low.

All in all, Shiro had a strict and cold home. While he was allowed some minor dalliances, such as a deviation from what could be seen as a _professional_ appearance, it was almost as if he was expected to be nothing more than a mindless drone. His most daring move was the piercing that decorated his azure tongue and even that had found him on the receiving end of a stern reminder that things were expected of him beyond being a harlot. The amusement he'd shown at that remark had been short lived as it had only fueled her ranting.

Once he'd finished the food and washed out his bowl and spoon, Shiro went towards his room and retrieved the uniform for his school so he could change. The white button-up shirt and beige slacks made him cringe, while even thinking of the mud-colored loafers would have had him running as far away as possible should he have had the choice. The tie was generally worn loose so as not to choke him should his luck run out and he be unable to out-run the assholes that attempted to bully him all the time. It was one of those things he would forgo should he have the option, which seemed to never be the case.

The only saving grace of his day was the fact that he wasn't expected to return home until late because of his part-time job. With the free time he gained in doing that it was the only real reprieve from the near tyranny of his mother and the whole stifling atomosphere of the house. That was another bit of his freedom, the part-time job he had at the bakery that allowed him to actually do something he enjoyed. If the woman ever learned just how much he enjoyed his job she would surely find some way to put an end to it.

Shirosaki had quickly learned that the best way to get away with anything he really enjoyed was to act as if he despised it or it was necessary in some manor. He had learned early on how to become a good actor so as to avoid the ire that came from his mother. Ever since Misaki's death, it seemed as if his father and the rest wanted nothing to do with him and instead he was forced to rely soley on the woman that had birthed him. The moment he was able, Shiro fully planned on leaving the woman and persuing a life he chose for himself.

While he had the chance he grabbed his bag and went to put his loafers on, plastering the grin on his face as he finally left the house. The facade that he kept glued to his face bordered on psychotic but it was the only mask he could wear that wouldn't crack beneath the pressure of merely existing. People couldn't break through the defenses he'd set up for himself and that was the only thing that mattered to him. So long as he was protected from all the ridcule and the hurt it was alright to be alone.

But Shiro's loneliness was easier to see than he could ever imagine.

Whenever people saw him walking to school on his own, clothes askew from a fight he might have just finished or even someone running into him, it was easy to see the flash of pain in his eyes. There was hardly a single person that paid his pain any mind – seeing him as a freak was just that much more convenient for them. Ivory hair that spiked every which way, skin the without pigment, and multiple other odd features. Amber irises swimming over inky sclera, an azure tongue and inside of his mouth, some people even suspected that he bled black or some other color. He was an outcast that always wore the same grin, never faltering even when he should have been wore down by the rumors and the ridicule.

The steps were taken without thought, his journey to school leading him right past the home that his father and half-siblings lived in. Not only a home but also a small clinic, the place his mother was determined to have him work at some day. It hurt just to look at the place, sunglasses covering his eyes so that they didn't scare anyone that saw him. Everyone there was so happy and even when he heard them fighting in the mornings there was some kind of happiness that had his heart clenching in agony. Why couldn't he have that kind of family?

It was no different now.

His steps slowed and he stared up at the window he knew belonged to his younger brother's room. Even when the curtains were drawn closed Shiro could tell that everyone in the house was there. Probably eating breakfast together like a real family. He wondered who cooked now that Misaki wasn't there...

Shiro had to forcefully shake those thoughts off and continue on his way with resolve. The pain would become more intense and concentrated the more he lingered, that much he knew from experience. At one point he had been caught by Isshin and then he'd had no idea what to do so he'd turned and ran. It always felt as though he was little more than a disappointment.

-Line-

Shiro was seated at the back of the class, staring out the window while attempting to keep his sunglasses hidden from the teacher's view. It was a subsititute, seeing as their teacher was on maternity leave, and it was the first day the man had ever seen Shiro or any of them. Once the glasses came off he would be the full brunt of all the jokes once more and their sensei wouldn't be able to look at him any longer.

Already his lack of proper coloring had him being stared at, along with the piercings decorating his ear.

"Shirosaki Kamen..."

Out of habit, his face turned towards the sound of his name being called and he could have smacked himself because of the blunder. The disapproving look the male at the head of the class was passing him went to prove that he was right in assuming that this would become nothing more than another bad idea. Unless he wanted to have the glasses snatched off his face he would have to remove them, staring with his eerie eyes. Shiro watched as a visible shiver passed over his sensei and placed the glasses on once more, wishing he could sink into the chair when he heard the snickering.

Not once did the grin fall from his face.

He felt that same clenching of his heart and his mirth became the slightest bit more difficult to fake. All around him were the sounds of the rumor spreading already. 'Shirosaki is a monster' and 'Shirosaki has the eyes of a demon' were all he heard. A minute twitch at the corner of his mouth and then his attention was turned back to the window.

'_It hurts,_' he internally cringed.

-Line-

He couldn't do it. Shiro wanted to do nothing more than hold his head and just scream at everyone. There was no way he could continue on at the school when all that surrounded him were the words that everyone took joy in throwing at him. Instead, he'd managed to find his way to the roof and leaned against the wall before sinking down. Jet nailed hands went to his hair, putting his forehead against both knees while a heavy sigh escaped.

"Life fuckin' blows," he muttered, pulling at his hair.

Shiro couldn't help but wonder what it would be like if he was living alone, or even with his father. Closing his eyes, head leaning back, he watched as the clouds slowly rolled by across the blue sky. It was peaceful when he was alone but it was lonely, almost as bad as if he was back in the frigid place that was his home. There wasn't really a place he could go that he wasn't considered a freak.

The pale teen snorted at how pessimistic he could sound, even in his own head.

His thoughts drifted back, to the last time he'd seen his brother and even his sisters. It was when the twins were born and Isshin had come and got him so that he could see them. Just looking at them had been a huge surprise, they looked pink and small. Whenever he'd seen his own photos of when he was a child all he could see was a sickly pale boy with odd eyes. To see actual children that didn't look as if they were deathly ill had been a surprise. Ichigo had seemed happy about it, babbling with glee. Watching the new family as they crowded about the beds of the two females, he'd felt even more out of place and had just retreated to the background.

They were what a family was supposed to be like... the one thing he didn't have.

"How depressin'," he sneered, sorely tempted to simply slap himself. "Talkin' ta myself an thinkin' 'bout tha bad shit."

**Grimm's P.O.V.**

Teaching kids martial arts was something that Grimmjow enjoyed beyond measure. It wasn't always children, however, but the vast majority he helped teach were younger than 14. Grimmjow loved teaching people how to fight, he loved fighting, and it also gave him the perfect chance to maintain the body he'd grown into. He may have been just another emplyee among those that trained those that signed up for a class but he took great pride in even that simple fact.

It was easier to ignore how alone he always felt when he was surrounded by people that had enough energy to keep him busy. Correcting them when they made an issue that he noticed was also a way of keeping him aware of when he made his own mistakes.

"Correct yer stance."

His job was one piece of pride that he had. It made everything else disappear for a while and he could live in just the moment. No worry, no guilt, and no grief.

Grimmjow loved it.

When the time finally came for him to teach some older teens Grimmjow grinned ferally and joined in.

* * *

_These chapters take me longer to write because I am determined to try and keep a minimum of 2500-3000 words. It's my own challenge as a writer. Be sure to review and tell me how I'm doing, and I'm sorry Grimm got so little coverage in this chapter. Next chapter is the meeting and should be out next week. Criticism is always welcome._


	3. Optimistic View

_Note_: Not much to say here. Reviewers will be answered at the bottom of this so keep an eye out. This chapter takes place two days after the previous one and will be the long awaited meeting. I mention time skips because the characters won't mention them but people might wanna know.

_Disclaimer_: Standard disclaimer applies. This is a work of fiction created by a fan. I do not make money from this work, nor do I own characters used.

_Warning(s)_: Language and rather harsh bullying, possibly even mention of sexual activity.

_Summary_: As children we're taught to get back up when pushed down. But human nature will drive us to cease getting up when the same thing happens again. Insane, doing the same thing over and over while expecting a different result. So when the sane mind sees the same result of getting up, it will instead sit down and stay. Shirosaki has been pushed down too many times, meekly bowing his head after so long. Grimmjow has never been pushed down. They say opposites attract but these two are more alike than they might know...

* * *

**-Optimistic View-**

**Grimm's P.O.V.**

Living alone wasn't all everyone thought it would be when they were young. Sure, he had all this space to himself and nobody could tell him when to wake up or when to go to sleep but it was lonely. None of the girlfriends or boyfriends he'd gone through had made the loneliness any easier to handle. Sometimes they even made it worse and other days they never lasted long enough to even make an impact in his life. There was no mother to make meals in the mornings when he got up, no family laughter to fill the home on the occasion something funny happened. It was silent most days too, the only sounds being the ones he made for himself.

There was no reassurance in being alone. Nobody cared if he got hurt, there wasn't a soul in the apartment aside from himself and that only made things all the more difficult to deal with. How could he handle the absolute dread that settled over him whenever he entered the silent space that he called home? Every time he was on his way to the building he lived in his steps would slow as if to delay his approach. It was beginning to reach the point where Grimmjow was tempted to get a pet of some sort just so he had someone waiting when he came back from work or wherever he'd been.

It was the same as always whenever he came home, filled with nothing and nobody. The colors that surrounded him were darker and mixed with varying shades of blue. Everything about the apartment fit his tastes and his budget, giving it a feel of being calming and comfortable.

As soon as you entered his apartment there was a small hallway that led to the living room area and branched off to the kitchen. The living room had a dark brown couch pressed against the wall across from a TV he'd splurged on when he'd seen it in the store. There was a table on one side of the couch, with a single lamp on it, that was located near the large window on the farthest wall to his left. The kitchen was average, with nothing that could set it apart from the average kitchen set-up. Farther in were the two rooms, aside from the bathroom. One was Grimm's own room and held all his clothing and his bed while the other was little more than an empty piece of space.

His space was comfortable and familiar but so empty and void at the same time.

-Line-

The dojo got a lot of strange people signing up but he'd never seen someone quite like this. Even seeing him from afar Grimmjow was fully aware that there was something... off. It wasn't in the pallor of his skin, the oddness of his eyes, or even the darkened bruises that could be seen in stark contrast to everything else about him. No, what really stood out was the wide grin that showed off pearly teeth and the creeping _something_ that existed solely in his eyes.

From some distance away, he caught the sight of the male and quickly sought to put it out of his mind but there was something keeping his attention. Grimmjow snorted and began to turn his attention back to the task at hand when someone beside him cleared their throat and his head tilted in that direction. There stood that same male he'd been looking at previously, wide grin near feral this close, and the creeping tendrils of hurt lurked in his eyes like a living thing. There had never been a time when he'd seen so much pain in one person's gaze when they managed to appear so happy on the outside.

How could anyone keep all of that pain inside themselves without breaking down under the weight of it? Could anyone manage it by themselves?

It shouldn't have been possible for anyone to be so sad.

"Yo," pale lips parted, a watery and distorted voice slithering out. "'M Shirosaki an 'm gonna be in yer class from now on."

There was nothing about the greeting that should have stood out but it made something of an impression because of the simplicity. Grimmjow's own grin spread over and he turned fully to the pale man. Already he could feel the need to assert himself rising and there was some expectation of this guy turning out to be just another loser he'd have to take care of for at least a year before he could amount to anything. The answering grin that widened on the others face had him wanting to punch him, it was far too cocky and self-assured.

"Name's Grimmjow Jeagerjaquez," he returned, arms crossing across the bulk of his chest. "Ya ready to show me whatcha got?"

"Ya bet 'm ready, _Grimm_," he snickered.

The nickname drew a twitch of his brow and nothing more before Grimmjow fell into his stance.

**Shiro's P.O.V.**

The first thing that let him know something would be different that say was the simple fact that his mother spoke to him about something other than the usual things. When she opened her mouth the first time it was nothing about his grades, nothing about him being less-than-ideal, and it was nothing polite. None of that was really surprising but what really had him internally cringing was the fact that one of her boyfriends appeared to be sticking around. That by itself wasn't wholly odd or even out of place but it set him on edge because of the way the man acted, how he sneered at Shiro whenever the younger was in the room with him. This time, the conversation had him tuning her out for fear he might have not only bodily attacked her but also the sleeze she brought home with her. It was disgusting and Shiro couldn't stand it in the least.

He didn't give them a chance to really set into a lecture before an excuse was already tumbling from his lips even while he'd left the table. In little time at all, he was outside and on his way to yet another boring day at school. Being in a building with more kids and people that thought like his mother was the one thing Shiro never looked forward to each day. There was no point in looking forward to his own torment at their hands, it served no purpose and only ended in utter misery for him.

As he was walking to school, Shiro felt a weight slam into his back and stumbled right into a wall. One hand shot out to brace for the impact to minimalize damage before he swung around with his lip curled into a sneer. Four men stood around, keeping some distance between him and themselves, and Shiro didn't really recognize a single one of them. That never seemed to matter, whether he'd done anything to them or even a friend of their's, thugs and assholes would come after him for the simple fact that he was different and they all feared his difference. Some people treated him as if he had some fatal disease that they would catch if they didn't dispose of him.

This time it seemed stranger than usual. The thugs weren't trying to close in on him and none of them seemed to have any grotesque looks on their faces. Each male looked calm and collected, as if they weren't facing off against one of the most brutal students in the school. It pissed him off, and he hadn't even made it past Ichigo's house yet.

But that hardly registered in his mind at the time, seeming unimportant in the face of danger.

Usually, whenever he fought against hordes of ignorant students, they came at him one at a time and were easy to defeat because of that method. This time, they all came at him at once but not a single one aimed for his head like he immediately expected. A punch to his shoulder, easy to dodge, led him right into a punch in the gut. Shiro had to force himself not to double over, clenching his jaw tight to keep from making any noise that could satisfy their cruelty.

Hesitation cost him and the next blow caught him in the side of his skull, causing Shiro to stumble and forced him to put and arm out to brace himself once more. It was as if lights exploded behind his eyelids and dizziness swept over him before he could muster any defense.

_Having to defend against these pricks. How disgusting._

Shiro felt sick with himself, internally sneering, and wanted them gone. If people like them were dead or gone far away then he could live in peace.

Another punch, this one at his cheek, caught him and his head snapped to the side from the force of the hit. A metallic taste filled his mouth and a brief grimace passed over his features before he grinned and kicked one in the crotch, causing him to shriek and drop to the ground. The next one was caught in the back of his leg while an open palm hit right on his nose and sent him toppling back. Shiro was about to face the last two when a voice cut through the sounds of pain and he whipped around with widened eyes.

Ichigo stood right there, eyes narrowed and a scowl set firmly on his face, both hands on his hips as he stared down the other teens. It was near comical, seeing as Ichigo was only 13, but Shiro was so proud as well. The teen's weren't fazed by Ichigo in the least, but the sight of the adult behind him was enough to send them all scurrying off. Shiro relaxed minutely only to tense as he realized that Ichigo and Isshin were both staring _right_ at him.

After so long of not being around the two of them he had no idea what to say.

"Shiro," Isshin greeted. "It's been too long."

"Uh... yeah."

It had been years since he saw them, Misaki had died nearly eight years before and he hadn't seen any of them since then. To have them around now, even if he was outside of the clinic, was too odd. How was he supposed to react in such a situation? It made him nervous.

"Who is that?" the strong voice of Ichigo cut through the silence, and Shiro couldn't help but internally cringe.

His own brother didn't even know who he was. It hurt, really hurt, more than any physical wound ever could. Shiro had never expected to be forgotten and he certainly never expected that his own family would look at him as if he were some kind of monster. He noticed the liquid sliding down his cheek from a cut and touched it with a frown. There would be bruises, vivid marks against the ivory skin, and explaining them to his mother would be nearly impossible.

For once, Shiro's gaze begged the old man not to reveal who he was. Not in these circumstances. Ichigo was smart enough to hopefully piece together why they looked nearly identical but Shiro wasn't ready to become part of their perfect lives. He always felt out of place, like a stain on their happiness, and being alone was always preferrable to feeling like a burden. And he was happy when his father's eyes were filled with understanding, it was all he needed from the man he had never really had the chance to know as a child should.

"'S not important right now," he shrugged, crooked grin settling over his features. "I think 's 'bout time I learn ta fight better. Ne, old man?"

Shiro lifted a jet-nailed hand in a wave and turned on his heal to walk away, wiping at the blood from the cut. There was nothing he could do for his appearance at the moment but he could take care of it later. While walking away he felt two sets of eyes boring into his back and Shiro snorted at the kind of parent that would let their child skip classes just to learn to fight.

It was about time he learned to fight properly anyway.

-Line-

The dojo was exactly as he remembered from the first time he had attempted to enroll. The memory wasn't a good one, seeing as his mother had caught up to him and prevented the then 12 year old Shiro from taking classes she felt he wouldn't need. But now, he was already signed up and had paid for the month. There was a small conversation about his wounds and why he felt as if he should learn more about fighting – his assurances that he didn't want to hurt people further seemed to work.

And that man with the cerulean hair and bright eyes that he spotted had only made his choice all the better. If the place had someone like that working for them then he could be almost certain that his own treatment there wouldn't be horrid. His odd coloring had drawn a few curious looks but there wasn't as much whispering as he sometimes had whenever he went somewhere.

Even surrounded by so many people he still felt so alone, unaware that it showed in his eyes. As he approached the larger man that would be his instructer, Shiro found himself actually envious. You could always tell who was happy with their life and who was in agony over all the things they were missing out on. It showed in the way they carried themselves, how they looked at everyone around them, and how they held so much happiness. That's all Shiro saw when he looked at everyone around himself, their happiness.

"Yo," he mumbled, for once finding his own distorted voice slightly disturbing while he spoke. "'M Shirosaki an 'm gonna be in yer class from now on."

Shiro had never had a _normal_ voice, it always sounded as if more than one person were talking at once and some people assumed he was possessed because of it. When he was younger those words had hurt more than anything. Monster, freak, and some many others. Now, they were just part of his life.

"Name's Grimmjow Jeagerjaquez," was the response as the brutes arms crossed across the bulk of his chest. "Ya ready to show me whatcha got?"

He'd never really met someone so much larger than himself physically and Shiro would admit, if only to himself, that it was intimidating in a way. One of Grimmjow's hands could easily fit about his throat and strangle the life out of him. Of that much, he was positive from just looking at the other. There was no way Grimmjow was fully Japanese, not with that height and mass of muscle, but his Japanese was flawless. Maybe he'd just been born here?

"Ya bet 'm ready, _Grimm_," Shiro snickered, watching as Grimmjow's eyes flashed with something before he positioned himself. It was then that Shiro realized he had a lot to learn and this match would in no way be his voctory.

He got in a position anyway, ready for the fight to start.

* * *

_Responses to Reviews:_

_Cantarella3261: I agree, poor Shiro, but I plan on tormenting him a little more before the story ends._

_hichi123: I hope the meeting wasn't a disappointment. I wanted it to be casual but leave a lasting impression._

_Hollow Ichigo-Ichigo: He'll behave in his own way ;3_

_As always, reviews are highly welcome from everyone. Even if it's just to ask when I plan on updating next. I wanna know that people like my chapters. X3_


	4. I Can't Like Him

_Note_: I am so sorry for the great delay in my chapters. My artistic muse decided to take a rather impromptu hiatus of sorts. I apologize for that and the next chapter is already in the works and should be out within the next week or so, then I'll take a brief break to get a few chapters stocked to avoid things like this from happening. I have **NOT** abandoned this story.

_Disclaimer_: Standard disclaimer applies. This is a work of fiction created by a fan. I do not make money from this work, nor do I own characters used.

_Warning(s)_: Language and rather harsh bullying, possibly even mention of sexual activity.

_Summary_: As children we're taught to get back up when pushed down. But human nature will drive us to cease getting up when the same thing happens again. Insane, doing the same thing over and over while expecting a different result. So when the sane mind sees the same result of getting up, it will instead sit down and stay. Shirosaki has been pushed down too many times, meekly bowing his head after so long. Grimmjow has never been pushed down. They say opposites attract but these two are more alike than they might know...

* * *

**-I Can't Like Him-**

**Grimm's P.O.V.**

He would be the first to admit that the kid – Shirosaki if he recalled the name correctly – had an immense potential for martial arts. Grimmjow had taught his fair share of people that would never amount to anything and he had those with some measure of talen but he had never found someone that was so natural at fighting. Shiro had moved with grace and an ethereal beauty that not many could pull off – it had been a sight to see and even though Grimmjow had won in the end it had been fun. There had been just enough of a challenge for him to enjoy himself but not enough for things to become a bore or a tedious chore. That kind of fighting could only come from someone that had spent a lifetime fighting and clawing their way through the world, which made wanting to learn to protect himself more rational for Shiro.

And those wounds the boy had come in with... it was rather obvious he'd run into some sort of trouble that morning. Nobody had questioned why he would be at a dojo when he should have been in school. More fighting could very well result and Shiro had been allowed to stick around to watch how everyone worked. Because it was older, more experienced students Grimmjow wasn't watching them and instead had the chance to simply sit aside and relax. He had to nurse a bloodied lip and a sore thigh, kicking had been something the other had done very well he had noticed, and Grimmjow was seated a few feet from Shiro.

He noticed from the corner of his eye that the teen appeared to either be resting or in some measure of pain. Shiro was hunched over, legs straight out before him, and his arms were limp at his sides. There was a minute shuddering to his shoulders that keen azure orbs chose to ignore. It was probably just the strain of fighting with his injuries, happened more often than people would think and newer students were especially susceptible. After some time and experience that would be less likely to drive Shiro to exhaustion like this and he would be happier for it.

"D'ya got someone that'll come pick ya up?" Grimmjow asked.

Golden orbs turned in his direction and Grimmjow noticed just how blank they looked, even though Shiro's mouth was curled in amusement. Those eyes were anything but happy and before Grimmjow could actually make out what it was hidden there pale lids closed over them. Curiosity piqued, the cerulean haired male set to examining Shiro's face for other signs. He didn't even know why he was curious, something about the other male seemed off, but he was and he would investigate it. Shiro was pale and there wasn't much to see, not even a blemish to be found aside from the bruises. It was like looking at a human canvas.

"My father'll come an get me in a few hours," he answered. "Mom's workin' so she can' come."

He didn't offer any further comment on the subject and Grimmjow let it drop. No use in forcing everything from him all in one go, learning more could wait. Still, something about the answer seemed off and for the duration of the time he spoke Shiro had looked almost exhausted by the answer alone. Someone so young shouldn't be so tired by speaking about their family in passing.

It was only an hour later that Grimmjow saw just who was picking Shiro up and he barely kept the frown from crossing his features. There was nothing wrong with the male that picked him up but the way they acted around one another was similar to that of strangers. A parent should know their child and it seemed as if they didn't know one another at all – walking on eggshells around one another. Even if Grimmjow himself didn't know all that much about his own father he could still associate with him on some levels – though he was much better with his mother.

Neither of them even exchanged words, a nod passed in Grimmjow's direction, and then they were turned and walking away. The door closed behind them before he even moved from his spot, rubbing a hand through his hair before going back to working with everyone.

**Shiro's P.O.V.**

Sitting in the car with his father, Shiro was terrified deep in the core of his being and barely kept from wringing his hands in anxiety. While he'd been fighting with the instructor something had happened that had him upset and he only barely managed to keep from showing just how much it was affecting him deep inside. It twisted his insides with worry and he was almost positive that there was some sort of external evidence that he was thinking about what had happened. He already knew that if he even dared to mention it to his mother there would be nothing but hate and disappointment in her eyes. It went against everything she was grooming him for and that never fit into what she wanted.

His inverted gaze dragged over to his father, a single finger tapping a steady tattoo against the door of the car while they drove on in silence. This was the first real contact he'd had in years and there wasn't even a thing he could say that would break the ice or rend the silence between them. It was disappointing, for himself and his father as well. They were family, shared some traits, and yet there wasn't a single thing that came immediately to mind that they could talk about without it seeming awkward or forced. Even if Shiro mentioned the fact he was studiously studying to become a doctor it wouldn't hold the enthusiasm it should and would seem forced.

Robotic, he would seem completely robotic and aloof.

Colorless lips parted, no sound escaping, before closing when nothing new came to mind to speak of. There were many things his mother would have been ecstatic to hear him say but the thought of making her proud by giving in had a sickening feeling rising in his gut. It would have been to much like letting her win and if there was one thing Shiro hated it was allowing his mother the chance to break him down and win in any way. He secretly feared turning out like his mother and would rather chew through his own tongue than even contemplate turning out the same way as her.

Another tense moment passed, the silence weighing upon his mind like some colassal beast, and a long sigh escaped before he finally decided to just speak what was on his mind. There would be time for him to properly chastice himself and think on other matters once he was safetly tucked away in his room. He would use the chance he had to just... try and build a bond of sorts.

"Did ya ever regret not takin' me from her?" he found himself asking, almost immediately digging his nails into his palm once the words had left his mouth.

Isshin didn't even look his way, only causing the same sinking feeling he'd got after being beaten by Grimmjow hours earlier. It was as if his intestines were coiling about and shifting, as if they had become serpents or worms suddenly. Not being acknowledged for several long moments had him finally looking away, back towards the window to watch everything pass by. He should have known that there wouldn't be an asnwer, especially not right away. But the steady pause had Shiro dipping into a singular feeling of worthlessness.

"I thought it would be best if you were with your mother instead of me," Isshin finally admitted, voice low and gruff with latent emotion. "I had lost my wife and have 3 children to raise, it was in your best interest that I leave you with your mother instead of taking you in."

His best interest? Those words alone had a sudden volatile spark of anger rushing through his veins like sparks. Shiro doubted it had been his best interest taken into account and instead it would have just been easier on Isshin to have less children to worry over. Keeping those that were full-blooded siblings together and leaving him on his own with his mother. Because of his _best interest _being taken into account his own brother didn't even know who he was. Despite everything, he was a relative stranger to his own siblings and he shuddered to think what the younger two would do if they happened to see him.

"You may not believe me," Isshin continued, not giving Shiro a chance to speak up. "But it really was for the best."

"Ya mus' not know mother very well then," he grit out, feeling actual tears of frustration threatening to fill his eyes. "She has everythin' already planned out fer me."

"That isn't a bad thing, Kamen."

He had to bite his tongue to keep from retorting. Nothing was going how he wanted it to and the misery was only coiling about in his gut until he felt almost physically ill from it. Why didn't anyone take him into account when they spoke or anything? Why couldn't he matter as more than the means to do something? Neither of his parents seemed to pick up on the fact that he didn't enjoy what he was being groomed for. He hated the thought of becoming a doctor. Shiro didn't want to save lives or deal with other people and their problems, he didn't want to have that much responsibility over life and death. All he wanted was to do something he would be able to enjoy telling others about. A job that he wouldn't drag through and hate every moment – was that too much to ask for?

Apparently so.

"Not for you," he breathed, stubbornly closing his mouth and refusing to speak again.

_They were both the same._

-Line-

Closing the door behind him, Shiro leaned heavily against the surface and touched his tongue to the wound he'd inflicted within his mouth from biting down. He had been very close to verbally assaulting his father on the drive home and was glad that his mother wasn't home to pester him about the tiny beat of blood that sat at the corner of his mouth. There was enough for him to worry about without her nagging him every moment.

Letting out a drawn out expulsion of air, he shuffled towards his room while gingerly touching the bruises on his pale flesh. They stood out sharply and no amount of care would change that, and no explaination would ease whatever punishment he was sure to receive. Life, he had learned, was extremely unfair to those that were constantly beat down by everyone else.

Another sigh, more defeated than he would have cared for, and Shiro began walking towards his room so he could do homework. His father had stopped by the school and somehow managed to get his work for the day, a miracle in and of itself considering how foolish the male had acted, and it was his duty to make sure he actually did the work without delay. Keeping his thoughts at bay was the only goal he cared to achieve for the simple fact he had made an unwanted discovery.

He reached into his back and grabbed the notes he'd been given a copy of and then the scrawled list of things he was supposed to do for his classes. The essay, while long, would be best done first and a grimace crossed over his visage while he set about working on writing it out by hand first. Even though he was focused on his school work a single track of thinking kept bouncing about in his head like a hyped up rabbit, distracting him when it had a meager chance.

Why had he been aroused by the fight with Grimmjow?

* * *

_Responses to reviews..._

_Hollow Ichigo-Ichigo: omfg XD_

_Allora Gale: A new reviewer~! Glad you like it so far._

_Cantarella3261: Like I said, Shiro is meant to bring sympathetic feelings here._

_Queenjagerjaquez: Shiro is very much an outcast in this. I hope this next chapter didn't disappoint X3_


	5. Learn Thyself

Note: The second chapter of my double update. Sorry for any inconvenience and I really hope people like the fanfic and bear with me, please.

_Disclaimer_: Standard disclaimer applies. This is a work of fiction created by a fan. I do not make money from this work, nor do I own characters used.

_Warning(s)_: Language and rather harsh bullying, possibly even mention of sexual activity.

_Summary_: As children we're taught to get back up when pushed down. But human nature will drive us to cease getting up when the same thing happens again. Insane, doing the same thing over and over while expecting a different result. So when the sane mind sees the same result of getting up, it will instead sit down and stay. Shirosaki has been pushed down too many times, meekly bowing his head after so long. Grimmjow has never been pushed down. They say opposites attract but these two are more alike than they might know...

* * *

**-Learn Thyself-**

**Shiro's P.O.V.**

The bruises on his skin had healed in the small amount of time since his fight, a mere three days. He had always been a remarkably fast healer and yet there were new marks layered upon the old, scars across his skin that remained hidden beneath the clothing he wore. If anyone ever saw the marks that covered his skin they would even further serve to label him a problem and there would be more stern talks from his mother. Avoiding that was high on his list of priorities.

Since being enrolled in classes to learn to better protect himself Shiro had grown the slightest bit closer to his father, even if he still felt ill at ease when he was in the older male's company for more than a few minutes. It required an immense effort to even accept his own father's help in getting to school without an issue each day. Even if they had only been on speaking terms for three days he thought the wariness would have passed within so short a time. Shiro found that the family bond didn't even cover the man that had helped in his creation – they were almost complete strangers and the time they spent together was odd at best. Most of the time he preferred to bypass the clinic that doubled as the Kurosaki home and get to school just in time, it was better than the near stiffling silence of being taken to school with the siblings that didn't even know who he was.

Sighing heavily, leaning his head against the wall that his bed leaned against, he stared out the window with a bland expression. In the secrecy of his own room he could let the mask down and simply be the person he wanted to be. His mother never came into the space he claimed as his own and if she had there would have been a cleansing going on. Notebooks were filled with all manner of recipes he wanted to try out some day and there was a great effort to not simply go into the kitchen and try them out. The only thing that really kept him from going out and cooking was the fact that one of his mother's boyfriends was in the house and Shiro's locked door separated them from disaster.

His room was, overall, rather plain and boring. There were no posters decorating his walls and even the blankets on his bed were dull and boring in color. The desk across the room had a lamp on it and was organized to look like a chaotic mess while the drawers were neat and tidy. His closet was filed neatly and there was a single bookcase that held some novels he'd found interesting but had read so many times they not longer held any appeal. Looking to the shelf, he made a mental note to stop by the library and store soon so he could get more books to line the shelf and keep the boredom at bay. He had almost no artistic skill that didn't involve cooking things but that hardly mattered when his mother would simply stamp it down.

Another sigh left his mouth and Shiro decided to simply attempt to go out and do something in his own home. If luck was on his side he would find that the only other person in the house was sleeping in his mother's room for now. They never got along and watching tv sounded much better at the moment than arguing with some asshole she insisted she loved. Throwing his legs over the edge of the bed, arms stretching over his head after having held the same position for so long, he went and pressed his ear to the door. Silence from the other side but Shiro had to be sure there would be no disturbances while he was out of the room. After a full minute of silence he unlocked the door and crept out cautiously, leaving his door open in case he needed to get inside quickly.

Since there was nothing keeping him from enjoying himself for a bit, Shiro even grabbed a bowl of ice cream and then settled himself on the couch and turned the tv on, keeping the volume down so as to avoid waking whomever else was inside. Out of habit, he checked over his shoulder every couple of minutes as if he expected someone to leap at him. It wouldn't have been the first time it happened to him and he finally relaxed enough to focus on what he was watching. Regardless of his love of cooking, Shiro hated to see other people cook as a means to learn anything about it. Instead, he preferred horror movies or those with action.

Seeing someone on the screen with bright hair brought to mind a certain azure haired male that he still had trouble figuring out, bringing a scowl to his face.

There was nothing about Grimmjow that had really struck a cord in Shiro and that was the odd part. He'd found men and women attractive before but none of them had brought out that spark that had him confused. The fighting should have had only adrenaline pumping and yet there was a shiver of lust that he could recall clearly. It hadn't even felt wrong to feel that way while fighting, there had been something almost euphoric about the thrill he got – which had only left him even more confused and awkward. Thinking on it, the only thing that had really left an impression on him was the wide grin that had split Grimmjow's face coupled with the bright and riotous hair. Or maybe it hadn't been something physical at all...?

He shoved it from his mind with a grunt, shoving another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth and staring resolutely at the screen. It didn't matter what he felt or thought of the other male, Shiro had an obligation to impress his parents by following in his father's footsteps and saving lives as a doctor. His mother had told him his obligation over and over again, until it was implanted firmly in his skull and he had no hope of going against her desire without help. Schooling, then a great career, find a woman, date for a while, propose, and then start a family so the process could repeat. Nowhere in that did a male he found attractive figure in.

Just thinking about the future only had his stomach curdling even further, mouth twisting into a grimace at the thought of what was planned out.

Misery, plain and simple. Nothing he wanted was taken into consideration and there would be only the boring things he hated to fill his days. Life for Shiro was being plotted out and he hated how it was, wished he could change something, but there was nothing for it. Regardless of his feelings and opinion, he would do what it took to make his father and mother proud of him. Even if it meant he would be doomed to being unhappy with his life he would have what he wanted from them.

Shiro was so focused on the tv and his thoughts that he didn't notice the lumbering steps and then the grunt until there was a rather loud crash that had him jerking. Whipping around with wide eyes, his gaze darted first to the glass that had shattered and then to the man that had caused the noise before darting back. It didn't take a genius to notice that whomever this was, it was someone he had never seen before and who had never seen him. The narrowed eyes and obvious sneer only proved him right and Shiro clicked the tv off before standing with his emptied bowl. Getting the glass object in his hand out of the way before he made a run for it was the best idea and hopefully the man moved from his spot so that getting to the room would be that much easier.

"You her husband or some shit?" a gruff voice demanded and Shiro barely suppressed a shiver of distaste.

"Her son, sir," he answered, just loud enough to be heard.

There was no warning for what happened next and Shiro's attention was focused on the sink while he cleaned up the dish. Having a hand in his hair that jerked him back brought a pained hiss from his throat and he instinctively lashed out with a snarl. No restraint, just shoving a running to hide away in his room with the door locked while he huddled in the corner and covered his head. Each resounding pound of a fist against his door had him flinching until only cursing and then breaking glass could be heard. After a moment of stretching silence the tv was turned on, sports playing loud enough that Shiro had no problem hearing them over the pouding of his heart.

He sat huddled in his room for a long time, eyes wide and spooked, before noticing that some glass must have cut into his hands because there was blood. It would have to wait because his mother wouldn't be home for another hour and he didn't want to risk having to deal with the stranger again.

Yanking his blanket off the bed, he settled for waiting on the floor.

-Line-

Shiro did not want anyone to question why he was bandaged as he was, especially not since he was sitting and watching the younger kids as they went through the motions of whatever they were learning. It was still some time before he would need to be ready for his own time with his age group and he was just watching, so that he could take Ichigo home when it was all over. His arm had been cut worse than he would like to admit and the bandages had been needed to stem the flow of blood. He wasn't delusional and he had caught some people looking at him already – or more specifically, looking at his arm – but nobody had asked about it yet. The lie he had made up to explain it away wasn't the best he could come up with in such short notice.

"Yo, Shiro," he heard, the voice making his heart stop and lungs freeze. _Please don't ask about my arm._ "What happened to ya?"

_Fuck._

**Grimm's P.O.V.**

It was obvious to anyone looking at Shiro that something was wrong and Grimmjow was no idiot. The bandages didn't escape his notice and he was staring at them with more intensity than may have been warranted. By the looks of things, Shiro was going through some effort to downplay his own injury and his arm was kept hidden from view as if that would keep people from asking questions.

_Just what is that kid going through?_

Grimmjow hated secrets and he hated strong people allowing weaklings to shove them around like they were trash. He had seen the potential Shiro had and yet there was no effort to climb his way out of whatever situation he had found himself in. It was almost sickening and Grimmjow sauntered over to see things closer. Shiro hadn't noticed him, too busy watching the orange haired child with the scowl, and Grimm had the chance to get a good look at that arm. It was bandaged from wrist to elbow and there was a single spot of dark red, as if the blood had seeped through and he hadn't bothered to change the bandage.

"Yo, Shiro," he greeted, gaze firmly anchored to that arm. "What happened to ya?"

Any lie would be quickly sniffed out and questioned. He wouldn't bring up the fact he was being lied to, not yet, but Grimmjow fully planned on getting answers if he had to manipulate them out. It wasn't usually his style to do things this way but he was determined in this case. One of his students was in a threatening situation and he could help, that was all that mattered to him at this point.

"I... uh... got cut on some glass while doin' dishes," Shiro shrugged, looking away as if ashamed.

_Bullshit_, Grimmjow snarled internally, eyes narrowing.

"It won' interfere with ya doin' anything, will it?"

"No," he answered quickly. "My father's going to take a look at it when I take Ichigo home, then I'll be back to say whether I'm fit or not."

Cerulean orbs were narrowed in icy slits and he nodded before going back to helping the children learn what their parents were paying for them to learn. Ocassionally, he would spare a glance in Shiro's direction to find him staring seemingly off into space but he thought there was a rather lonely air about him. Either he was interested in joining in or he was just an odd person.

It never occurred to Grimmjow that Shiro was just lonely being in a corner far away from everyone else, watching people laugh without him near.

* * *

_Thanks to those that read and review. I'm proud of how this story is progressing, even with my impromtu hiatus of sorts, and I'll be taking a small break to get back on track with my chapters. Going to do two before my next update so I can have one reserved in case something happens. It should only be a 10 day wait so be patient - maybe I'll have 20 reviews when it happens XD_


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